


Party Like You Mean It

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Boy Sam, Bisexual Dean, Castiel is Called Clarence, College Student Castiel, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean is Eighteen Years Old, Dean is a Sweetheart, Drunk Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, House Party, Hungover Castiel, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Party, References to Canon, Sexual References, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, college party, no major spoilers though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean freezes because that voice definitely does not belong to Casey. Unless she smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on the way to the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Like You Mean It

**Author's Note:**

> I felt this story was appropriate, especially for all you early birds who signed up for Halloween back in, like, April. (; Luckily, your time is just around the bend. I even can't believe it.
> 
> Title inspired by the Killer's song, "Smile Like You Mean It" because I love the Killers.

 

There's a reason Dean's donning a Clooney-style Batman suit—nipple depressions and all—at a college party twenty miles from home, and that reason is Casey Barrese.

Dean and Casey hooked up at Dean's freshman orientation where Casey was his tour guide. Her long brown hair falls well over her shoulders, creating a diamond between her tanned, bare neck and the shadow of her breasts, which are two plump peaches swathed by Little Red's hood and ready for picking. Her eyes he can't recall from the previous observation, but he does remember her dark gray eyeshadow... for reasons. Let's just say, Dean doesn't remember much about KCU, but he was _filled_ with school spirit after finding himself pressed against a mop pail.

He had her number written on the inside of his palm, but of course, a classic case of ink boogers escaped the tip of the pen and smudged her handwriting. Thankfully, his old high school buddy James knew about the party. With any luck, Casey will be here. With _all_ luck, she’ll remember him and want to try for round two.

“Hey, do you know where Casey Barrese is?” he asks a girl wearing a long black and red dress with matching 1984-esque Michael Jackson sequin gloves and horns.

The girl turns around to meet him and her eyes widen to the size of two shiny pennies. “Well, well, well,” she says, painted eyebrow and smile lifting in tandem, “Clooney came after all, looks like we’re all saved.”

Dean shrugs—or as best he can, anyway, with Kevlar. “Yeah, I prefer Keaton, but…”

“Really? Not gonna toss Bale a bone?”

“Bale’s a helluva actor, but the voice ruins it for me.”

“Honestly, yours isn’t much different.”

Dean lowers his head to evade the sass thrown at him. “So Casey.”

“Reaper costume by the punch table. Just do us both a favor and stay away from Clarence. He’s _my_ unicorn.”

Dean laughs. He’s not denying he’s bisexual, just the implication he would steal someone else’s… something.

But the girl’s not laughing and she actually looks kind of scary, so he clears his throat, “Understood.”

“I’m bored,” she says, and before Dean knows it, the girl’s sauntering off.

Weird. Dean shakes his head and turns into a darkly lit corridor packed to the walls with people from all walks of life, like a subway car or the DMV. To his left is a group of jocks, one who somehow managed to open a keg and bathe in it like a person sprayed by a skunk would bathe in tomato juice.

To his right, two girls in scantily-clad _Thing 1_ and _2_ costumes talk at the speed of a radio DJ just before the next song plays and giggle when Dean passes. Compliment or criticism, he can’t find the will to care when his downstairs brain, which is throbbing from more than just the dubstep blasting through the surround sound, leads him to some upstairs fun. There, at the punch table, is Casey.

Honestly, the costume, despite it covering pretty much every inch of her, only enhances his fantasies. Since there’s times he wants to be slapped in the face during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask, Dean figures this isn’t too far off from his or anyone else’s fantasies. Or maybe he’s just freaky like that.

“I have a question,” Dean asks once he’s behind her, shielding her eyes with his hands. “If I go to Hell for saying you look absolutely sexy tonight, would you still reap my soul?”

Dean feels Casey’s head turn. Not to sneak a peek at Dean though, because Dean can feel her eyebrows, her… much _thicker_ eyebrows, taper. “Is that a flirtation?”

Dean freezes because that voice definitely does _not_ belong to Casey. Unless she smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on the way to the kitchen.

Before Dean can try and rectify what’s possibly the most awkward situation of his life (but hey, it’s still early), the guy is turning around and… well, Dean doesn’t take back what he said. The guy _is_ sexy. His eyes are the night sky reflecting the ocean after the passing of a large boat: deep, wavy royal blue. His pillow-soft pink lips imitate the outline of a cat’s head, upper lips acting as the ears. He even has whiskers, which adds color to his sun-loved face, along with messy brown bedhead revealing itself after he pulls back the hood of his costume.

“Sorry,” Dean starts again, shaking his head of an oncoming blush. Thank God for the mask… which is actually on top of his head. Shit. “I’m just gonna…”

“Wait.”

Dean licks his lips and turns around again, only to be pulled in by the current of those eyes. “Yeah?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“What you said,” he replies, stepping closer until Dean’s senses are overwhelmed by booze and aftershave, “you called me sexy. Did you mean it or were you talking about someone else?”

Dean has half the right to feed the guy a lie (and a twelve-hour aspirin), but a part of him knows it wouldn’t even really be a whole lie because _Casey, who?_  “I was,” Dean replies with a gulp, “talking about someone else, I mean. But after seeing you, I would much rather have _you_ hump my soul to the other side.”

This seems to please the guy, because a slow grin crosses his face. “Castiel,” he offers, lending out his hand only to lose his balance. Dean catches him halfway through his fall with a laugh.

“Okay, tiger. I’m Dean, but you probably won’t remember that tomorrow, so uhm…” He glances around the kitchen until he finds a pen. Thankfully, his number comes off clean into the palm of Castiel’s left hand (just in case he decides to drink another liquor store and the perspiration doesn’t wipe it off). “Call me tomorrow.”

***

The next day, at 10:34am, Cas calls him, but it’s not what Dean expects.

“ _How_ old are you?” Dean asks incredulously and can’t help the laugh that follows.

Dean can hear the confusion seeping into Cas’s tone. “ _Twenty two. Why_?”

“How’ve you gone your whole life without experimenting with alcohol? What were you doing in high school?”

“ _Oh, I experimented, alright,”_ Cas reassures. “ _Just not with alcohol.”_

Dean scoffs, “Whatever you say, man. Have you tried milk?”

“ _Milk? I mean, I know it gives you strong bones, but the only ‘bone’ in need of strengthening is my—”_

“Whoa, okay, that’s a _different_ problem. Have you tried taking a piss?”

There’s a pause, followed by a rustling that sounds like Cas attempting to get out of bed. “ _Oh… yeah, I think you may be right. And you were going to have me drink milk!?!”_

 _“_ You’re the one who brought your dick into the conversation!” Dean laughs breathlessly. He can’t remember a time he’s laughed so hard. Years, at least.

“ _This isn’t funny, Dean! The voice says I’m almost out of minutes.”_

Dean comes down from his high enough to respond, “Okay, alright. I’m heading over. Text me the address.”

**

“So Meg,” Dean says once Cas is into an upright position on his bed.

How someone can look good with their hair sticking straight up like static from a balloon, crusty eyes, and a pair of questionably dark and sticky underwear is beyond his GED-level comprehension. (Though, after what Dean witnessed between last night and this morning on the phone, it can either be two things: beer or piss. Maybe both. And Dean probably shouldn’t be turned on by the possibility of either as much as he is.)

Otherwise, Cas’s studio is pretty clean. Dean wouldn’t take him as the type to go out and get hammered.

Cas laughs, deep and rich as he nurses a cup of warm coffee, “Yeah, I’ve been on her radar since I broke up with my ex a few months ago.”

And that explains the uncharacteristic behavior last night. “Sorry.”

“Oh I’m not,” Cas responds, eyes wide as he sips from his mug. “She was awful. I’ve just been… I don’t know, going a little stir crazy, I guess. We would spend a lot of time cooped up here, so I just wanted to get out.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Dean says, tucking his blanket tighter underneath his thighs.

Cas smiles, responding, “I’m glad I did too,” as he leans to the side, careful not to ruin Dean’s work, he plants a shy kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth. When Dean’s too busy blushing his own pants off, Cas adds, “You’re good at this whole tending-to-the-drunk thing.”

Dean chuckles, “You would be too if you had a little brother who thinks he’s invincible.”

Cas nods, lips debating between a smile and a frown. “I thought I was, too.”

 

As it turns out, the best cure for a hangover is a day of uninterrupted cuddling.


End file.
